


Come Back Home

by FirithAriel, songsofgallifrey



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on Tom's character in War Horse, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, POV Second Person, War, War AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 05:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15135950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirithAriel/pseuds/FirithAriel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsofgallifrey/pseuds/songsofgallifrey
Summary: Thomas has left for war. There's nothing for you to do, except wait. When he has failed to send letters for over a month, maybe your wait has been in vain.





	Come Back Home

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, [a picture](https://78.media.tumblr.com/141a89779b91288525153cd605cfdedc/tumblr_p3dc79JUzL1u5j9sco1_540.jpg) has opened the gates of Hel. And after a prolific chat on discord, Songsofgallifery and I ended up with this.

The faded sepia picture has started to wrinkle in your grasp. But you refuse to part from it.

It has been only 2 months since he parted, and you already are wondering when will he return home? Every day Thomas spends away from you is one day in which he could die. Fear cuts deeper than the cold weather.

You sit on the porch of your little country house everyday, staring at the snow covered fields, at the barely recognizable road and the black iron gates. Your hand holds a cup of tea, while the other rubs your incipient belly.

And you wait.

Day after day, you wait.

There’s nothing else for you to do.

Wait for news.

Wait for letters.

Wait for him to return home. To you. To your sweet embrace and warm bed.

Winter has ended, and the weather starts to warm up. Your growing belly gets in the way of your daily tasks, and you wish Thomas was there with you. Every other week you get a letter, soft and short recounts of life in the battlefield, of traveling, and horses. You treasure every single letter he sends. It is a significant connection to your beloved Thomas. A testimony that all those miles away, he still loves you and misses you as much as you love and miss him.

Summer comes and goes. Autumn finds you all round up and almost ready to give birth.

You get scared when a month has passed and he hasn't sent anything… You pace around the house, startled by the smallest sound, almost forgetting your usual chores because you’ve been staring at the window. When a new letter finally arrives, you all but yanked it away from the postal service boy. You settle and read it out loud for your little one inside of you.

 

 _My Darling (Y/N),_   
  
_My deepest apologies, for I am certain to have worried you due to the absence of my letters. I am still alive and well, I assure you. We are getting closer to the front, and that is why I won't be able to write as often - postal service is hard to come by in the proximity of battle._   
  
_Each night I sleep with your photo under my pillow, and I dream of your embrace, the touch of your lips. I know that our little one is due to make an appearance soon, but we have hopes that the war will be over before then. I may very well be able to keep my promise to spend Christmas at home. We shall ring in the new year together with our baby, if luck favors us._   
  
_As much as I could write a book of all that I wish I could tell you, I must go while there is still someone here to take our mail. I hope this reaches you and our baby in good spirits. Never lose hope, my love, for your hope is my beacon to travel home to you._   
  
_All my love, for all of time, I am forever yours._   
_  
Thomas"_

 

You re-read the letter out loud almost everyday now.

It somehow helps you keep calm as you know the time to meet the little one gets closer. You wish with all your heart his father could be there, and the letters keep that illusion going.

It’s ironic and cruel that the same day you go into labor, a soldier happens to come. You heard the bell, but you were busy pushing a new life out of you, so your mother sprints down to get the call. She doesn't say anything, not until the new born baby is safe in your arms. But the look on her face gives it away.  
  
"Mama?"  
  
"It was a soldier." She says slowly.  
  
Your heart starts pounding as tears well in your eyes. "It's not mail day yet…" You choke out, trying to hold on to hope, but it keeps slipping from your grasp. "What does it say?"  
  
You hold your baby boy closer as he happily feeds on your breast. Your mother shakes her head.  
  
"What does it say!?!?" You demand, startling the infant. Your mother slowly unfolds the paper. You can see she's holding back tears of her own. With a cracked voice she reads.   
  
"Dear Mrs. Hiddleston. It is my painful duty to inform you…"

.-

" _Missing in action._ That's all it says. He could still be alive. I know he is. He has to be."  
  
Your mother shakes her head at your denial. "They looked for him for days before they had to move on," she insists. "If there was still a good chance he was out there then they wouldn't have sent someone here to tell you."   
  
You stare down at the baby nursing at your breast. He has Thomas' curly blond hair and strong chin. "I can't give up on him, Mama," you say with a crack in your voice. "I promised him I wouldn't ever give up. Not until they bring his body here to be buried."

You cling to hope. Cling to that _"missing in action"_. Half of you knows what it really means, the other half refuses to acknowledge it. You go back to your daily routine of waiting.

Winter has returned. It’s been over a year since Thomas left. You’re still clinging to hope.

_He promised he’d be home for Christmas._

Christmas' eve comes, and you spend the whole day sitting on the porch, toes and fingers nearly frozen, waiting for him to appear at the gates. Your mother scolds you: your baby boy needs to be fed. So you settle beside the window until he's sated and asleep, and you go back outside. The last letter you received is safe in your dress pocket. It is a bit faded, tears have made the ink run, you've read it so many times you know it by heart. But you won’t part from it, or the faded picture.

As night falls, your mother calls you for dinner, but you refuse to go inside.  
  
_He promised. He will be here._

You feed the baby again before your mother goes to bed, and she covers you up with another quilt when she accepts you won't come in. Not just yet.   
  
You start to doze after your mantel clock chimes 11 o'clock that night. Every noise wakes you in a rush of hopeful adrenaline.   
  
Just before midnight you start to lose hope. _He promised, he promised_ , you keep repeating in your head. The war is over. _He promised._ He should be here any minute. _He promised_ . Before you know it, you're dozing again, and somewhere in the back of your mind you hear the clock chime 12.   
  
In your sleep you feel the touch of cold fingers on your cheek. You hear his voice, taunting you, reminding you of his broken promise. Irritated, you swat the hand away.   
  
Your eyes snap open when your hand touches living flesh. As if he had stepped out of the photo you kept on you at all times, standing before you is the love of your life, bent down until his face was inches from yours. His cheeks were a little more hollow, and his eyes slightly sunken in and bruised looking from months of sleepless nights, but it was still him.   
  
Thomas smiles down at you softly. You reach up and caress his cheek, finally letting the tears fall. "You made it," you whisper, your heart nearly bursting from your chest.   
  
He laughs, that beautiful, gentle laugh you missed so much. "I had to keep my promise, didn't I?"

You stand up, still not believing you eyes. This must be a dream. But then again, you wouldn't be freezing if it was. You hug him tight and he winces. Only then you notice the cast on his arm and the way he leans on one leg more than the other. By the short breaths he's taking, you guess more than one rib is broken. But you don't care, he's here. Just in time for Christmas.

Slowly and gently, you lean in, catching his lips with yours. Hands cupping his face and wiping the cold tears away. Your heart is soaring with happiness.  
  
"Would you like to meet your boy?" You say, taking his hand to lead him inside.

That night Thomas sleeps with little Henry on his chest, never mind the broken ribs. Even though he had never heard his father's voice before in his life, your son sleeps like a log.   
  
Your mother drops the skillet she is holding when the three of you come down for breakfast on Christmas morning. She gives Thomas a gentle hug and starts crying, saying she's sorry she believed he was dead. Over pancakes he tells you both the story.

It is a dreadful and demanding task for Thomas to tell you everything. You hold his hand the whole time, just to show him you were there, by his side, and would never leave. He cried remembering his fallen friends, he shivered with the vivid images of death and pain, he cried again while telling how they found him and brought him back.

Then, he looks you in the eyes and tells you how you were his only light in that darkness. How the thought of seeing his baby boy just once kept him alive in the frozen swamps. He had promised to come back for Christmas and he had yet to broke a promise. You cannot possibly put into words how much you love him.  
  
"I apologize for not having a Christmas present for you, my love." He says, kissing you hand. "Especially cause you've given me the most perfect present ever!" He adds, stealing little Henry from you and rocking him in his good arm.   
  
"You being here is the only present I need."

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!  
> You can also follow us on tumblr [FadingCoast](http://fadingcoast.tumblr.com/) & [Fandom-And-Feminism](http://fandom-and-feminism.tumblr.com/)!!


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